Life as a Suit of Armor
by Panther Moon
Summary: Al comments on the ups and downs of being a suit of armor. No pairings and mostly humor with some seriousness thrown in. Any and all comments welcome and appreciated.


It's hard being a suit of armor.

Not that I'm complaining or anything. I'm grateful that I'm alive, but sometimes . . .

Doorways for one.

Doorways are seven feet tall, three feet wide. They're also surrounded by a doorframe made out of oak, maple, pine, or some other species of wood that's approximately 2 ¼ inches wide or 5 ½ centimeters if you prefer metric.

When you suddenly go from being a normal sized 10 year old boy, to being a little over seven feet tall and almost three feet wide – that's when doorways become difficult. The wooden doorframes at granny Pinako's are covered in scratches. I used to forget all the time that I had to bend down a little and, _bang_, my helmet would hit the top of the doorframe. Once it even came right off and bounced around on the floor. Ed laughed so hard he almost fell off his chair. I had to laugh too.

Pencils and paper can also be a hassle.

I hope I'm not the only one who's had this problem with paper: you drop a stack – or even just one piece of paper – onto a wooden, tiled, stone, or any smooth floor or surface and then try to pick it up. No matter what you do, they keep right on sliding across that surface. When you finally get them back in your hands, some of them are crinkled messes, and most are creased or bent in some way. I had this problem even when I was a normal kid. Now, with metal gauntlets instead of flesh-and-blood fingers, it's like trying to pick up papers wearing ski gloves – iron ones at that. Needless to say, I'm teaching myself not to drop things, especially paper, anymore.

Writing is another thing my big hands had to become accustomed to.

You wouldn't believe how many pencils I broke when I tried to start writing again. Pencils are way too delicate. Press too hard and the tip snaps off; it's as simple as that. I still like to have more than one when I'm writing. Once, I got too smart for my own good. 'If the pencils keep breaking because the tips are too delicate, I'll just use a pen. A pen won't break as easily!' That worked until the day I sat down to write and my pen did break. The spilled ink ruined a whole pile of notes. After that, I decided to stick with the easily breakable, but less disaster-prone pencil.

Books are the best invention besides the printing press or automail.

They keep me sane during the long hours of nothingness at night. I'll try reading anything thrown my way. Chemistry, theoretical, sci-fi, adventure, fairytales, history: I've even read a few cheap romance books when I was really bored. (I'll never be that bored again.) The only problem is that books and armor combine as well as water and oil. 'Delicacy' and 'coordination' become all important, and page flipping becomes an art. The trick is to open the book just right so the next page separates from all the ones that haven't been read yet. Then all that's left is to gently push the single page to the other side. The first step is the killer. After you get that down, it's easy. I also prefer books that have been read a few times. New book's pages have a tendency to stick together. It gets frustrating when you're right at the climax and the pages won't separate. It took me two minutes to get the pages unstuck one time. No joke. All the while, I was wondering what the identity of that mysterious shadow was. That's frustrating.

It's not all bad though. I like to try and think about the positive things most of the time. It gets depressing when you only think about the unpleasant.

Temperature doesn't affect me.

I don't feel hot and cold like brother does. While he complains of overheating or freezing – mostly because of his automail – I'm perfectly comfortable. When it rains, I don't get wet and I definitely won't catch a cold because of it. Actually, thinking about it, I haven't had a cold or been ill in four years. I don't miss that at all. I don't think there's anyone who likes beings sick or the exhaustion that comes with it.

I don't get exhausted.

I can keep going, and going, and going, and going, and going. I don't get tired, so I don't have to stop. This comes in handy in a fight or a sparring match. I can wear all my opponents down without tiring myself out. Over time, even the best fighter gets tired. If I'm not outclassed or overwhelmed right away by someone, odds are I can wear them down to defeat an opponent above my skill level. I'm not saying I could beat Izumi. When you're on the ground, pinned, beaten up, or flying through the air – inexhaustible stamina does absolutely nothing. All that can be done is to hope for a safe landing. Preferably on something soft. Concrete hurts. A lot. Or at least it did.

Pain,

That's another thing. I don't feel it. I'm grateful for this from all the times bullets have ricocheted off me or parts of my armor have been blown to pieces. If I had to feel that each time it happened, I would be in a world of pain on a regular basis even if it didn't kill me. Of course, if I had a real body, I'd like to think that I would avoid those situations whenever possible. Since guns can't hurt me, I'm probably the least gun-shy person in Amestris – there's no point in dodging all the time if it's just going to bounce right off.

For the most part, I just think about the present because the future is so far off and uncertain. When I have to think about it, sometimes I worry. What will my body look like when I get it back? Will I be able to show facial expression, or have I become too accustomed to my armor? Will I still be ten years old? Will Edward get his limbs back too? How can everything possibly be the same again? How can I protect all the people that need it? Is Winry safe? Is Granny? What about everyone else?

All these things pass through my mind, but I can also think of all the good things I know will come; feeling the rain, the sun, wind, tasting Pinako's cooking, sleeping, dreaming, the smell of spring, of fresh rain, the possibilities are endless. There's no doubt in my mind that I'll get my body back – I just have to be patient, work hard, and concentrate on the good that's going on and what I can do to help.

It might be hard being a suit of armor right now, and it might be an even harder and longer path to return to normal, but I'll keep my spirit up and keep working. Eventually, both brother and I will be normal again.


End file.
